One moment at a time

"Try to look at your experience here as a mandala, *Cara. Work hard to make something as meaningful and beautiful as you can. And when you're done, pack it in and know it was all temporary"- Adaption of the Yoga Jones quote from OINTB

If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then surely the road to self-actualization is paved with loneliness and wars with time, or at least that's what I've garnered over the last month.

I don't know if it was by pure coincidence but September was one of the most strange months of my existence. One of transition and development and working harder than ever to push towards self actualization. 

Over the space of about 2 weeks. I lost my relationship of 6 months, my best friend of 2 years and had my car breakdown to the point of the needing nearly a grand in repairs. But I didn't fall apart. Instead I got up and watched as metaphorical windows began shattering around me. 

It's hard to explain what my life is at the present. How the passage of time is always painfully slow.  There are new periods of great loneliness and I miss constantly talking to the now ex and former best friend. Some days this manifests as a dark depression- a deep pool of pain as the extrovert inside me craves the company of others yet other days as a sign of addiction and gratitude at a chance for withdrawal and moving forward. 

It's a bizarre place to be in. One with a now seemingly over abundance of freedom, where aside from work I have 142 hours of free time. A number that near constantly overwhelms me. 

But that is the sheer beauty. I am free.  I feel closer than ever to myself, and have found a new sweetness of bond with my ex. I cherish the relationships I have with those around me and relish in the moments of sweet joy: of sex to the sound of rain on the tin roof, cuddles with my baby 'niece', floating in the pools in Southbank and the rush of endorphins when dancing.

There's no doubt that Reece and Merida changed me for the better. That thanks to them I walk forward confidently and with a fresh perspective on life. Despite our bitter ending- Merida taught me the true meaning of independence and how being alone is sometimes the best.

Then there's Reece, a person who I will always consider a close personal friend. I cannot thank you enough for cleaning the mirror and showing me how beautiful I am, for walking beside me as I hit milestone upon milestone in my personal life and for being the wonderfully rare kindred spirit that you are.

I've learnt to live by living each moment and not thinking more than five in advance. September taught me that life can change in a moment and the only way to move forward is to keep walking and being present.



As part of my healing process immediate post break up. I took a self portrait every day for the first week after. Here is my story (in random order)

I hate you!

I hate you!

I hate the way you snore and are never on time,

I hate your bad puns and childish ways.

And how I want hold you for days and days

I hate that I’m writing this, and how badly I rhyme

I  really hate the way you handle me, the way you can’t speak girl

Yet more so I hate the way you make it ok, the way you rock my world.

I hate that I can’t fix you when you’re hurt or understand what’s going on.

I hate that you don’t try to fix this, even though something’s clearly wrong.

But most of all......

I hate that I let myself fall in love and that now whenever you suffer, I suffer too.

I never want the pain of ever losing you.

You're my person!

When I was a kid there was one thing I wanted every year for Christmas. 

I wanted a best friend!

Unfortunately Santa never delivered. So year after year I hid away in the friendship of Anne and Diana- there was literally a point where I could quote half those damn books. I resigned myself to the fact that I was NEVER going to find someone as crazy as me.

                                                        (I always wanted a bosom friend)

Fast forward like a decade and something weird happened. I met my best friend at an art exhibition, that admittedly I only went along to for the free wine. Little did I realize that the Weasley look alike with the scary heals was masking what I'd wanted my whole life and that although we didn't know it then, our lives were about to be changed forever. 

     (This is pretty much what happened)

Let me try and explain.

I'm Dinky and she's Merida. 

We have that relationship where we can read each others minds so well that we scare the crap out of our boyfriends- best party trick EVER!. 

We understand our mutual co-dependency's on wine and coffee and don't judge them. 

We speak random babble fluently and yes we do start twitching without contact for over a week - the month we broke up was the WORST of my life.  

She's my sister, confidant, shopping assistant, life coach, soon to be business partner and my person

I love her and, despite being slightly annoyed that it took us 19 years to meet even though we grew up in the same town, I couldn't imagine my life without her. So remember- every once in a while- childhood dreams do come true. 

The Honeymoon is Over!

In every relationship, there's a "honeymoon" period. You're madly in love, they're perfect and the sex is mindblowing. But then the pigeon slams into the window and it shatters. Suddenly you'reacutely aware of their snoring, nagging voice and morning breath.

This week I learnt that adulthood has its own Honeymoon period. You start out fresh out of home- Centrelink and Mummy have your back! Pay Day is Pub Day and any money you earn is immediately spent on hipster tees, a gym membership and Chai lattes (The 2014 West End version of Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll).

In the space of 3 days Centrelink axed my Healthcare Card, my car faltered for unknown reasons (leading me to quickly realise that "Boyfriend" is not Australian slang for "Taxi") and Mummy just couldn't save me this time.

There's no easy way to say it: Adulthood sucks! Working your ass off all week and then realising you have a choice between eating or medication isn't fun, nor is never having enough time for your loved ones or having to figure out tax returns.

Yet the thing is. I still wouldn't change a thing. Being an adult is exhausting and so overrated but in a way it's fun. Remember being a kid and playing "Grown ups"? No, not every day is like that, but God it's fun when it is! When I go to work for a week and come home to Reese having made me dinner, or sitting around for hours drinking wine with Merida - and subsequently challenging every fictional best friend relationship in history. It's well worth it for that!

     (Also when you make your bedroom look like an Ikea catalogue)

Woo Hoo *Bitchy Woman

Being a woman is a bitch!

I swear if I hear one more man complain about PMS or hear the phrase "Damn it woman". I'll become a lesbian just to troll you all. 

Being a woman isn't fun! Whilst I'm sure the male gender comes with your own problems. I'm yet to hear you fella's being teased about your emotions- the closest you get to that is the accusation that you have the emotional range of a teaspoon. 

Well, Why is being a woman such a bitch I hear you sarcastically ask. 

Let me break it down for you. Work, Body and ultimately - Society

Work

Can we please stop pretending that women aren't cut out for man's jobs? Or that there's even such a thing as a "man" or "woman's" job. I work in a physically demanding retail job. My boss and A.M are women and I promise you - we all work just as hard as any of our male coworkers. I'm lucky to work for a company that values equality- but damn I feel sorry for my sisters on salary who earn 70c to every man's $1. Is it worth mentioning that because of the laws around paid maternity, we're likely working harder than our male counterparts to make ends meat in some circumstances? 

To be clear- This our CURRENT Minister for Education 

Body

 If I hear one more word about 'empowering women' or 'body image' I'm going to burn and sacrifice my designer Zara dress........

Ok now I have your attention.....ladies and fashion conscious men. When I started this blog I vowed to be both brutally honest and cynical. I may have been away for a while but I'm back and tonight will be writing about something I'm truly passionate about- No it isn't wine- although that does explain my recent emplo.........Anyway. 

So there's a few things I take issue with here. But it all comes down to this

CAN WE PLEASE STOP CALLING CURVY WOMEN REAL WOMEN.........

Seriously!!!
A while ago I got into a discussion on social media with several young women on the topic of shaming women for different body sizes. 

As pointed out by S, 25 "Whether you're too large, or too small- just because you don't fit into societies norms  means you're fair game for anyone to have a crack at" (Read more: Like Seriously?)

 I find it disturbing that as a weird twist of 'protest' against the media culture of skinny models,  common society has started to shame skinny girls and praise curves. Get into a dictionary (No you may NOT cheat and Google it) and look up the definitions of "Real" and "Woman" I think you'll find that the only definition available is a human identifying as female. 

WHY THE HELL AM I RUNNING?????

When I was 12, puberty hit and I had firmly decided that, unlike my classmates, there was no point in running unless my life was in danger- pretty reasonable logic right? It wasn't apparently or at least not until 9 years later when Tracey Spicer got up the gall to tell it like it is. The Lady Stripped Bare

My next point on the topic of "Body". Our bodies take a beating- not only do we get the fun of childbirth but also the parasitic accomplice of PMS and menstruation.

Now while you guys are happily joking about your bitch being on the rags or yelling "Shut up woman" over our hormonal outbursts, we're battling a physical condition that is clearly an evolutionary joke.

 As any loving father of daughters or emotionally in tune boyfriend will tell you- We are NOT having fun when we're clutching our uterus's and going through more emotions than Melbourne does weather in 30mins. So if we have the decency to not publicly mock your weird obsessions with boobs-  which by the way hurt, ooze, grow weird hairs and hate the booby prisons known as bra's, can you please shut up about our emotions?

                                                            Pretty much actually

Society

I know this girl called *Aleisha. She's one of the sassiest, most gorgeous women I've ever met and I'm proud to call her one of my best friends. To me she's just Aleisha- defined only by herself. But to so many others she's still defined by the fact she used to be *Stephen. Aleisha is an inspiration, because despite the fact it's the 21st century- she still battles against a society that condemns transgender people and sometimes seems hell bent on reverting back to the time before human rights or feminism itself.

Dear Society,

I don't care if you're male, female, conservative or a freaking squirrel. Can you please stop making it so damn hard for my gender.

CAN YOU PLEASE STOP WISHLIST

Making clothes shopping a trauma
Ruining our self-esteem and body confidence
Calling sexually liberated women Sluts and Whores
Putting stupid taxes on tampons
Discriminating against transgender and Bi people - No I'm not fucking "confused"
Mocking lesbians
Thinking all feminists hate men and we're just a hoard of angry vagina's
Judging us because of OUR choices about OUR lives - I'm looking at you anti-abortionists
Sending us mixed messages resulting in this ( Apparently we don't need feminism? )
Giving us crap if we're brave enough to speak up against anything

And FINALLY.................

Pissing us off to the point where we find it necessary to write posts like this in the first place!

It's August 2014 and I'm off to research entering a law degree

Losing yourself

It's raining, and rain makes me think. I have tea and an hour before I need to leave for work. This piece has been a work in the making of several months- So forgive the apparent lack of continuity. The thing is though- I don't make sense and that's whats so delightfully wonderful about me.

When I started writing this post, it began as a forced process to "prove a point" and ultimately ignore a now glaringly obvious point about my life. I'm hesitant to write this because of both my love of denial and tendency to have 'startling revelations' that result in intense face-palming and no action being taken. This is a relatively poignant moment for me though and it seems foolish to waste an opportunity to write.


 I've been absent for a few months and - despite the fact my readership probably consists of my parents best friend, I figured I owed it to you guys to get out of bed and bring my snarky cynicism back to the page.

I suppose part of the reason is because the last few months I feel like I havent had a voice- insert shield against feminist uproar/ accusation about having a patriarchal boyfriend here.

 My life has taken on a blissful level of boring, a world where my biggest whinge is that there's new species of mould growing in my housemates crockery- really wish I was kidding about that. It's not that I don't read feminist articles and rage over politics anymore, but rather I know that that's not going to pay my rent.....yet anyway.

Somehow in 4 months I've become an adult. Apparently that doesn't happen overnight, I call bullshit. I blame a few things, primarily my first 'adult relationship' and becoming totally financially independent - which I still think are seriously overrated by the way.

So I got a permanent part time job and within a week realized two major things. Firstly that retail is not an easy job and secondly? No wonder my parents are always so tired!.  Suddenly I LEGITMATELY  need to do my laundry, really really badly; end up looking at my pay check each week with a "I worked THAT hard for THIS", let alone my serious envy of people who get normal weekends. I love my job, and on a recent holiday-  I swear I started twitching after 4 days without it.

The other night we talked. Of the many things said and debated that night the one thing that truly smacked me in the fact was "You act like a 1950's conservative house wife", It came fast and furious. How had the once vivacious, independent and proudly feminist Cara  given way to what I'm pretty sure is Tony Abbott and Chris Pyne's ideal 'woman'. I had surrendered my voice, become dependent on a man and was insisting on doing the domestic chores constantly because "I'm a woman".

That night I made a promise to myself that the rule book went out the window- and it kind of has. This week a comedic hero died and my role model marriage fell apart. Nothing in life makes sense or is serious. It's so easy to get caught up in the hum drum of work, relationships and even depression. There is no startling revelations and no one is invincible. I'm violently against the taxes put on tampons and to hell with being a Stepford Wife.

There is so much I want to say and ask, and even with my lack of life skills. I really want to know how the hell you deal with a stray possum in the work place.

My house is a mess, and this week I was bitten by a crab the size of my thumbnail.

(Attempting to be a 1950's housewife)

Time Indifferent

I'm different. I accept that. 

I am 21 and something. I have a job. I have friends and a boyfriend. I appear normal. But am I?

Sixteen

My eyelids stay shut
I won't let them move
They are all that's keeping me here
Keeping that wave upon the sand

I step out in dress and shoes
A vision of crimson
Pose Smile Flash
Frozen in time

Sunshine filters through
Everything invites me in
Clasp tight upon my breast
Verbose Gumption

Wind Ice Sunrise
Running along the dune
Directors Cut

He traces
Love on my belly
Safety a vague identity

The ocean rushes
Wave reclaimed
Dreams shattered
Eye's awake

Seventeen

When you're failing english
I am there, study notes in hand

When you're fighting with your boyfriend
I am there, listening

When youre abandoned by your friends
I am there, sitting by your side

Yet when I'm failing science
You couldnt care less

When I'm crying over a friend
So sit there and say nothing

When you abandon me
Well thats that 

Eighteen 


Would they even notice?
If I went insane?

Would they even care?
If I went insane?


Would they even talk to me?
If I went insane?

What if suddenly?
I just stopped talking?
or stopping running around?

Would they even help?

Would they even notice?
If I went insane?

No! They'd be too embarrassed! 
Too horrified and ashamed!


Twenty-One 

Are things really different to then?
No?
Yes? 
Even I can't answer that.......